


Fire Emblem Drabble Collection (1)

by LonelyPeony



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 05:50:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6143524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonelyPeony/pseuds/LonelyPeony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like the title suggests, this a collection of Fire Emblem drabbles. This first collection is solely for FE: Awakening, but later collections may branch out to other FE games. Each chapter features a random word. All characters are from the game (no reader, no OC). I do not own Fire Emblem nor any of its characters, nor do I own the artwork presented. But I do own this collection. Themes include: romance, angst, fluff, friendship, humor. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Horse

Minerva lay in the dewy grass, her dark body masked by the darkness of the sturdy tree’s shadow. With her relaxed pose left unguarded, one might have thought that she was napping or merely observing her beautiful, sunny surroundings. But a closer look at her would have revealed the ire in her fiery glare, an impatient huff escaping her flared nostrils. It was a most perfect day, yet the scene unfolding before her eyes was the antithesis of perfection: her beloved Cherche was riding a horse.  
  
        It wasn’t just any horse, either; no, it was Stahl’s manly, chestnut steed. She grumbled at the sight of Cherche’s sweet smile and innocent laughter, as her knight in shining armor gently held the reigns and walked his lady through the field. It was as if Cherche were a child riding a horse for the first time at a festival. Minerva looked away for a moment to relieve her bitterness, but upon sneaking a glance at the flirty couple, she discovered the man in question now sitting behind Cherche, whose slender body leaned back ever so slightly into his broad chest. The wyvern, in all her rage, swore to bite Stahl’s head off.  
  
        However, were it not for the handsome horse, the situation would not have been nearly as romantic. Minerva fantasized about being the “steed” instead; she imagined herself frolicking through the fields with Stahl and Cherche… Immediately, she shook the idea out of her head: a wyvern joyfully cantering about with a couple on her back? How absurd. No, if that were the case, then the earth would quake with every step she took and Stahl would grow lightheaded with queasiness. In no way would that be graceful or encourage the prospect of romance.  
  
        Hearing the gleeful banter and jollity in the distance, Minerva’s gaze softened a bit, for were it not for that horse and Stahl, she would never have seen her most esteemed mistress relish in such pure happiness. For Cherche, Minerva would share her unconditional love for her master with the noble knight and his horse.


	2. Bacon

_Sniff sniff_.  
  
        Panne’s eyes instinctively fluttered shut to the tender waft of spices coming from the mess hall. Her tail fluffed up in elation to the wonderful smell, but she couldn’t pinpoint the exact food item. Curious, she decided to enter the kitchen, only to find a certain curly-haired country boy chopping vegetables and frying something over a healthy fire. The scent of vegetables was so overwhelming that she unwittingly walked up to Donnel and let out a mesmerized sigh over his shoulder.  
  
        “Agh!” Donnel jumped and shrieked in surprise. Clanging of metal could be heard from outside as utensils, pots, and pans were knocked off the table. At the sight of Panne’s blank face, his pulse slowed back down to normal.  
  
        “Sorry, didn’t hear ya come in,” he said sheepishly.  
  
        Panne ignored his apology and stole a juicy carrot from the counter. “I’m starving,” she said before munching on the freshly rinsed vegetable. Donnel could only gape at her in disbelief. After all, she did just eat the only carrot he had left that was going to be used in his ma’s recipe for beef pot roast.  
  
        Noticing that the smell she sensed earlier was coming from the red strips sizzling in the pan, Panne asked, “What’s that?”  
  
        Snapping out of his shock, Donnel said, “Huh? Oh, I’m makin’ bacon fer tonight’s dinner, along with some of ma’s beef pot roast.”  
  
        The taguel’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What’s ‘bacon’?”  
  
        The farmer blinked a couple times. “Pig meat.”  
  
        Donnel grimaced at Panne’s wrinkled nose. Her face turned a bit pale with disgust.  
          
        “I can’t believe I actually thought it smelled good…” She stuffed cabbage leaves in her mouth.  
  
        In an attempt to ease the tension, Donnel hesitantly laughed.  
  
        “ ‘Least it wasn’t rabbit!”  
  
         _Thud_. The cabbage fell to the floor along with the contents of Panne’s stomach.


	3. Impulse

Inigo lurked around the corner like a panther, ready to seize its prey. His eyes narrowed in waiting, and he grew antsy in his crouched position. In the distance, he spotted the slender and poised figure of his prey approaching the corner. Licking his fingers, Inigo took a moment to slick back his hair. There she was, about to turn the corner… and ATTACK!  
          
        “Hey there, sweet baby cakes,” he swooned, leaning against the wall, obstructing her path. “I’ve got a lovely rose for you today. It came from my hear—”  
             
         _SLAP._  
             
        “I’ll take the rose, thank you very much.” The rose was plucked from his fingers, as usual.  
The suave young man remained unfazed, as his cheek started to swell and grow redder and redder by the second (due to the force of the slap or his blush, no one would know).  
He laughed heartily. “I expected no less from you, my darling Severa. Your impulsiveness is no surprise, you know. Might I add that you’re looking quite angelic toda—”  
  
 _SLAP_.  
  
        “Might _I_ add that _you_ are as daft as ever, Inigo? There, now your face is more symmetrical.”  
Inigo smirked, both cheeks hot and stinging. She seemed to have hit him much harder than yesterday. Severa fidgeted in place, twirling the thorn-less blossom with somewhat of an interest.  
  
        Cocking his head, Inigo asked, “You’re not going to snap it in half like you usually do?” He leaned closer to her face with a knowing grin. “Does this mean I win? In terms of your love~”  
   
        Just as Inigo’s warm face was roseate, Severa’s cheeks were faintly as red as the rose in her delicate grasp.  
  
        “OOF!” Inigo reeled back, clutching his stomach. Severa kept her fist balled and crossed her arms.  
  
        “Hmph! I’d never let you win, idiot. I…I just decided that flowers are pretty and it would be a waste for them to be torn up every day. Don’t think you can win so easily.” Her ears were beet red as she walked off.  
  
        The beaten man watched her form recede in the distance.  
  
        “Yup,” he concluded with a sigh, “She’s a keeper.”


	4. Sarcasm

Nah walked in to the training room only to find the one-and-only Owain swinging his blade around, shouting ridiculous terms to the poor training dummy that had to endure it all.  
             
        “Eat this: Minced-meat-super-quick-slash!”  
             
        “HA! I’m too awesome for you, dumb dummy!”  
             
        Sighing, Nah broke the rhythm of one-sided banter, “Owain, what are you doing?”  
             
        The blond grinned with confidence and ensnared Nah with his wits, or lack thereof. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her over to the damaged dummy. “Nah! Perfect timing; watch me train and help me come up with a super cool move with a name too.”  
             
        “No thanks,” she said, retreating to get her book in the corner where she had left it the other day.  
                     
        “Please!” he pleaded, kneeling on the ground dramatically.  
             
        “You know, you’d be a great actor,” Nah rolled her eyes.  
             
        Struck with absolute pride, Owain boasted. “Oh, I know. I’m really great at dramas, particularly the ones with the hero saving the day and killing the dragon.” He chuckled to himself.  
             
        Nah blinked. “I was being sarcastic.”  
             
        “Ouch. That hurts.” He averted his gaze without a smile.  
             
        Confused by his reaction, Nah couldn’t find the right words to say. It was very un-Owain.  
             
        The blond continued. “You know, you’re be really good at being nice to people.”  
             
        “Is this a ‘sarcasm-off’?” She asked with a raised eyebrow, interested in a battle of wits.  
             
        “Nooo,” he droned, widening his eyes for emphasis.  
             
        “You’re really good at sarcasm.”  
             
        “So are you.”  
             
        “You’re so original.”  
             
        “You’re so outgoing and friendly. You practically scream, ‘Be my friend!’”  
             
        “I’m jealous of how intelligent you are. It’s like you outsmart everyone on the battlefield by shouting your moves right before attacking!”  
             
        “Maybe I should read more so I can be like you, a bookworm with _great_ fashion sense.”  
             
        Nah let out a giggle, a sign of her genuine amusement. “Oh gods! You’re so funny!”  
             
        “Riiight. Haven’t heard that one before.”  
             
        “Owain, I’m not being sarcastic,” she clarified, still laughing to herself.  
             
        “Mm-hm, sure.” He crossed his arms.  
             
        “Owain, I’m serious.” The laughter faded.  
             
        “So am I.”  
             
        “Stop being sarcastic.”  
             
        “I can’t. I’m on a roll.” As soon as he said that, a flash of insight was evident in his expression and gape. “I got it!” He ran back to the dummy and picked up his sword, getting very low to the ground as if to roll.  
             
        “Rolling…… THUNDER!”  
             
        Nah watched with a blank stare as Owain somersaulted, leapt and crashed down on the dummy, slicing its head. She mumbled, “Why do I feel like that phrase was stolen from somewhere else…?”  
             
        Owain ran up to the petite manakete and gave her a bear hug, crushing her small figure. “Nah, you’re the best! Thanks! That move was really cool!”  
             
        Nah sighed and deadpanned, “Yeah. That was really awesome.”  
             
        Owain paused. “Was that sarcastic?”  
             
 _Oh gods, what have I done?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Rolling Thunder belongs to Nishinoya from Haikyuu <3


	5. Candy

Rule 1 of motherhood: Never leave your baby alone with your husband for the day. Though it wasn’t her intention, Robin broke this universally acknowledged rule for the sake of her job as Chrom’s advisor. She knew that her relatively lovely, clean, and peaceful home would be ruined by the time she came back. Usually she had Lissa or Sumia take care of Morgan, but neither of them was available at the moment, and she certainly did not want Tharja or Henry to be near her son. So the only option was to leave Morgan with his stay-at-home-but-still-a-thief dad. How absolutely wonderful.  
  
        Gaius rushed Robin out of the house, reassuring her that everything would be fine – that it would be as simple as “stealing candy from a baby.” What Robin did not see was the sinister smile behind his sweet grin, as he shut the door.  
             
        Little Morgan just woke up from a nap, groggy and lethargic and, most importantly, crying. Gaius approached the crib, not exactly knowing how to calm his child down. He poked Morgan’s chubby cheek to see if that would have any effect, but to no avail. It only made him shout louder.  
             
        Gaius picked him up and stared at his whining face. “Gods, you sound like your mom when she’s mad at me.” He pondered while Morgan spat at his face. “But you do look like me. Same handsome hair and everything. So maybe we like the same things. You know what calms _me_ down, Morgan?” He set the baby down in the crib again and whipped out a few lollipops like a magician. “Candy!”  
             
        At the sight of the colorful wrappers and shapes, Morgan stopped crying and sat there with big, curious eyes. Gaius unwrapped a green lollipop and handed it to his son who instinctively shoved it in his mouth. Saliva dripped everywhere. There they were, father and son, sucking on lollipops together. It was a real bonding experience.  
             
        Next came the sour gummies. Gaius chuckled at Morgan’s uncontrollable, twitching face. But as soon as Gaius ate an extremely sour gummy bear, it was Morgan’s turn to laugh and giggle at his dad’s funny face. Soon enough, Morgan had sugar all over his mouth and lips, with a different array of candies lined at his feet. After having a piece of chocolate, he stopped eating the candy given to him. Instead, he played with them, fascinated by the vibrant colors. Gaius tried forcing him to eat more candy, but Morgan refused, insisting on playing with it instead.  
             
        “You’re not my son if you don’t love candy as much as I do!” he pouted, drawing Morgan’s attention. Gaius caught him staring mesmerized at his chest, drool oozing out of the corners of his toothless mouth. Realizing that he liked the bear shaped lollipop sticking out from his chest pocket, Gaius handed it to his pushy son who did not eat it, but instead added it to his collection of candy.  
             
        Hours later, Morgan was still playing with candy, and Gaius noticed that his son had more candy than he did, and he wasn’t even eating it. Morgan was categorizing the candy by color, size, shape, type… Just like his mom, Gaius thought to himself. In an attempt to equalize the amount of candy each person had, Gaius picked up a lollipop from the crib. But as soon as he had done that, Morgan lunged for the piece of candy, grabbed it, and put it back with the rest of the candy. Surprised, Gaius saw the upset and possessive look of his son. He tried again, but failed miserably, as Morgan would start wailing and shrieking, and he would only stop if all of the candy were left with him in the crib. Baffled, Gaius scoffed.  
             
        “It was my candy first, kid!”  
             
        Having come back from work, Robin entered the room to find her husband and son fighting over a lollipop. Both boys stared guiltily at the woman whose presence brought an uncomfortable amount of tension. Gaius was the first to let go of the candy and point his finger.  
             
        “Bubbles, your son is a candy hoarder!” he claimed. Morgan furrowed his eyebrows and babbled back to his father in an irritated fashion.  
             
        Robin silently walked over to the crib. She found all the candy neatly arranged. “Gaius, did you give him all this candy?” she asked.  
             
        “Yeah, he didn’t want to eat any more though.”  
             
        “What did I tell you about giving him candy?!” Robin grew irate, explaining tooth decay and child care. She didn’t notice that Morgan lumped all the candy into one pile and pushed it towards his mother, until Morgan coughed.  
             
        Robin turned. Morgan pushed the pile even closer to her.  
             
        “Is this all for me?” she asked sweetly, pointing to herself.  
Morgan nodded innocently. Robin smiled and kissed Morgan’s forehead, ruffling his ginger hair. She called him a “sweetie pie” and smothered him in her love, thanking him for being so thoughtful and “better than daddy.” Morgan snuck a glance at his father. Gaius swore he saw the kid smirking at him before turning his innocent attention back to his mom.  
  
        “This kid is definitely mine…”


	6. Mannerism

Lissa spent her days rolling around in the field, pouncing on muddy puddles, and laying in the grass without a blanket. She was never the “royal type,” and Maribelle was sick of it. She snapped when Lissa snorted at dinner the other day. Finding her best friend in her usual lounging spot in the open field, Maribelle shielded her from the harmful rays of the sun.  
             
        “Lissa, darling, you mustn’t expose yourself too much. You will get much darker if you continue this,” she advised.  
             
        Lissa shrugged if off. “It’s nice though. I like it.”  
             
        Maribelle let out a soft sigh. “My dear, how can you find a proper gentleman if you don’t act lady-like. You must control yourself and exhibit the best manners. After all, nobility must present itself like nobility. Don’t stoop down to the commoners’ level.”  
             
        The tomboy sat up and nodded understandingly with a calm smile on her face. “But we’re on the battlefield. Manners don’t matter as much.”  
             
        Maribelle’s curls fluttered in the breeze. She looked elegant, her back straight as a board, shoulders level, and chin up. She was the epitome of class. Lissa stood and took Maribelle’s hand in hers, rough against smooth.  
             
        “Maribelle, we could die any moment. I don’t know about you, but I would rather die knowing I had the most fun I could, not being a restricted princess. Mannerisms don’t define who you are. You can still have fun while remaining classy, as always. But for me, that’s not the case. For me, upper class manners and amusement don’t go together. If you feel that you aren’t having enough satisfaction in your life, then you could try loosening up a bit. It feels great!” She smiled innocently.  
             
        Maribelle lowered her parasol and leaned on one leg. “It does feel a bit ‘freeing’.” She could feel the sun’s warmth kissing her white cheeks. “I’m sorry, darling, I didn’t know that this is how you felt about it. I can see a bit of the appeal, though I would never roll down a hill with you.” The two giggled.  
             
        “You have to laugh louder! Laugh out loud!” Lissa insisted.  
             
        Maribelle had her doubts, but she tried anyway. Lissa began tickling her best friend, who then burst out in laughter and couldn’t stop. She fell to the ground, laughing uncontrollably.  
  
        A snort escaped Maribelle’s lips. She blamed Lissa for being so contagious.


	7. Flowers

Cordelia had a habit of sighing. It was not a sigh of exasperation or of boredom. No, it was a sigh of unrequited love. She had never spoken much to the Prince of Ylisse, and she knew very well that her best friend was in love with him. Influenced by Sumia, Cordelia would often pluck a wild flower from the field and play the infamous game “He likes me, he likes me not.” Every time she ended positively, she would continue to sit in the field of flowers and daydream, fantasizing about a possible romance with her beau. But for those negative endings, she would be grounded to reality and sigh her worries away. Cordelia, being the best friend she could try to be, listened to Sumia’s woes about Chrom with a pleasant smile and sympathetic air, and she even gave her advice from time to time. She could not help but wonder if Sumia had ever considered the idea that Cordelia liked Chrom as well.  
             
        Little did she know that another man had entered their love triangle. Frederick had his interest piqued by the beautiful and talented Cordelia. Though he bore feelings for her, he knew that her heart belonged to Chrom. What was he to do when the woman he loved had sights for his best friend? It was his awareness of the situation between Cordelia and Sumia that drew him closer to her. Both he and Cordelia were subject to Cupid’s cruel arrow that seemed to have missed their best friends. Each day, he witnessed his maiden tear flowers apart and make them wither and die, as if she wanted them to feel as she felt deep inside. Frederick’s heart ached with empathy and adoration. His love was so great that if he could, he would fulfill Cordelia’s ultimate wish for Chrom to love her in return. But he knew that would never happen, and it was likely that he and Cordelia would never truly be happy, for both were subject to a desire for the unattainable.  
             
        And so Frederick came to her in all his genuineness. He opened himself to her as her confidant, to listen to all her troubles in love – to listen to her sighs day in and day out, for as much as she sighed aloud, he sighed in his heart.  
             
        One day while Cordelia was plucking the same wildflowers, Frederick approached her with a bouquet of twelve blue roses. Without having to hear his deep voice, she knew that he was telling her, in all fragility, that although her heart was elsewhere, his would always be within her grasp. Before she was able to reject him, he said gently:  
             
 _These flowers are from me to you, and they are yours to do as you please. If you wish, you can pluck their petals and let them wither. Or you can choose to cherish them, water them, and keep them alive._


	8. Tables

It was Lon’qu’s turn to prepare dinner, and they all knew what that meant: all entrées were going to be some sort of potato dish, for all he knew was how to peel and prepare a potato.  
             
        Many of the Shepherds were tired of potatoes, and it was common knowledge that Panne abhors potatoes. The last time she was served a potato as a meal, she flipped the table over and stormed out with a carrot. It was presumed that she would not be making an appearance for this dinner.  
             
        Nowi, being the slightly immature manakete that she was, formulated a plan to entertain the company in time for dinner. She made her way to the kitchen.  
             
        “Hi, Lon’qu!” she grinned.  
             
        Said man immediately blushed furiously and became tongue-tied. Nowi was used to it already and took it to mean: “Hello, Nowi.”  
             
        “What’cha up to, huh?” she snooped around.  
             
        “P-Peeling potatoes…” he mumbled.  
             
        “I can see that.” Nowi noticed reels of potato skins everywhere. “Would you like some help clearing these out?”  
             
        Lon’qu nodded, still embarrassed by her presence.  
             
        “I’ll go ahead and take these out for ya then!”  
             
        Phase one: Check.  
             
        Nowi carried a sack full of potato peelings and exited to the mess hall. Tables were situated in rows, touching each other. It was perfect. She commenced her plan and disappeared out of sight by the time the first person came in for dinner.  
             
        Lon’qu had finished cooking potatoes twenty different ways and came out of the kitchen to present dinner. But instead of entering a loud room full of idle conversation, he was greeted by an unsettled group that looked at him questioningly. And he saw exactly why.  
             
        There were strings of potato skin decorating the hall, hanging on the tables like streamers, and there were bits of random potato pieces strewn about like confetti.  
             
        “We get that you can peel potatoes nicely, but you really didn’t have to brag about it to this extent,” Sully said.  
             
        Lon’qu turned red and froze.  
             
        After a good five seconds, Nowi came out of her hiding place, bursting with laughter. “Sorry, guys, that was me. These tables are so boring; I thought they needed to be decorated. Plus the theme is potatoes, so I thought: Why not potato streamers?”  
             
        The mass groaned and tried to ignore the random potato motif as they ate their potatoes.


	9. Skies

The wind tickled against Gerome’s cool skin, as he cruised the evening skies with Minerva. It was quiet and intimate, save for the whispers of the breeze near his ear. It was the only time he could be in tranquil solitude, with merely Minerva and clouds as companions. Up in the soft pink clouds where the atmosphere is chilly yet warm from the rays of the sunset, Gerome was left with his thoughts. He removed his mask, for there was no one but Minerva to see the anguish in his gaze, the scars in his heart. There were hues of red, orange, pink, and purple all around him. It was as if he were plastered in the midst of a painting. Had it not been real life, Gerome would have concluded that this was art.  
             
        But he lived in a world of ugliness, pain, sadness, and hate. Even sunsets, pretty as they were, were foully perceived. One cannot help but feel alone and melancholic in watching the sun set, for such is life: a birth and fleeting moment of light before returning to the darkness that is death. Gerome cursed himself for letting a natural and beautiful phenomenon remind him of burning villages and bloody bodies instead of the brilliant mesmerizing flame of life. He wished to do what it took to change the awful present in which he lived, one of utter agony and isolation; he had to learn to put on a brave face and combat his own feelings of doubt, longing, and attachment.  
             
        More than anything else in the world, Gerome desired the feeling of being a part of a family. He wanted his mother and father, the only remaining family being Minerva. He started to feel the warmth of the dying sun leaving his face, the night sky above him twinkling with cold stars that had no care in the world what his fate should be. He imagined his mother sitting with him, watching the sunset together and how lovely it would be. But instead, he was absentmindedly seeing the sunset, with only a throbbing heart and tired Minerva.  
             
        Unmasked, Gerome could not hide his tears for his mother and father from the glorious sun. But to those on the earth below him, perhaps they could believe that the skies were weeping for the misery of its people.


	10. Stones

The exterior of the small countryside church contained stones of varying sizes and shapes seemingly piled on top of one another. There were different shades of the same drab colors – the browns, greys, blacks, and beiges – composing the bleak, abandoned church. The nearby village was completely dead, not hint of human life remaining for years. The stones were moss-ridden, ivy creeping in to the building through broken stain glassed windows. A significant amount of weathering must have ruined the place of worship, but there was also the possibility of barbaric attacks. Crows cawed and pecked at the moldy graves staggered around the premise.  
             
        Henry entered the crumbling establishment with his trademark grin. He was completely surrounded by death and the smell of old, rotting nature, a great pleasure to his senses. Every step he took produced a tapping echo from the flattened stone surface on which he tread. Upon feeling a lumpiness beneath his feet, Henry gazed down to read the grave of the man resting completely dead right below him. He reveled in the fact that he was walking on death everywhere he went in the decaying church. Nearly every tile was a grave, and he skipped in ecstasy throughout the building, creating a rhythm amidst the sound of loneliness. He patted the shoulders of the collapsing statues with missing hands and noses. Once he reached the altar, he turned to face his audience of ghosts and crowed with laughter. And the stone building replied faintly with mirth.  
             
        What had once been a divine refuge of heaven was now submerged in a stone tomb of death.


End file.
